


Pearl Diver

by hornybraincell



Series: Kinktober 2019: Max's Collection [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: BDSM to Cope, Crying, Depression, Forniphilia, Gen, Human Furniture, Platonic BDSM, Post-Advent Children, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Subspace, Vaguely Unhealthy D/S Relationship, platonic D/s relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 14:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornybraincell/pseuds/hornybraincell
Summary: Treasure hunter you are dead, the light of a world is fadingYou cannot see the other end, your body's lost all feeling--Cloud is recovering, but sometimes it's difficult to cope on his own. Tifa helps.





	Pearl Diver

**Author's Note:**

> busted this one out fast for **forniphilia.** just a small little thing. enjoy!
> 
> lyrics in summary/title from pearl diver by mitski

“Cloud?” Tifa asks, carefully edging the door to his bedroom open with a small creak, the hinges whining with age and lack of use. “The children are out.”

He doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at the ceiling with his hands pooled behind his head, creasing his spikes and worsening his bed head. First Tsurugi lays off to the side, leaning against a corner, and two cups of half-finished water sit on the bedside table, a fine film settled on top of them.

“Cloud,” she says again, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind her with a click. “Cloud, it’s been two days. You have to get up. At least to eat or drink something. This isn’t healthy.”

He makes a nose of vague assent then, at least, flicking his eyes to look at the half-drank water and then turning his neck to face her.

“Sorry, Teef,” he says softly, eyes downcast. “I just. I couldn’t.”

“I know,” she murmurs, coming closer and sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him. Her arms are stiff at her sides, hands clenching the bedclothes with something other than anxiety, other than anger. She doesn’t know the word for what she feels. “That’s how healing goes. You’re not at rock bottom anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’ll never have times when you’re going to be down.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and she doesn’t have to turn around to see the way that his face flushes with shame.

“Don’t be,” she answers. “Let me help you. The children are out,” she repeats.

“Are they okay?”

“They’re fine, Cloud. They’re at school.”

Right. It was a weekday. The children were at school. He was here, in his bed, in Edge, at Seventh Heaven.

“Right,” he murmurs. “I guess I should pee.”

He gets up with a grunt and Tifa moves off the bed in one fluid motion, casting a glance behind herself as he follows her out.

“I’ll be in my room.”

He nods, goes to the bathroom, and groans out the relief when he finally pisses; he hadn’t been able to heave himself out of bed since yesterday afternoon, and then, only to piss and have some water, sticking his head under the tap. He hadn’t been able to make it downstairs to the kitchen.

He becomes aware of his body slowly; realizes how greasy he is and wants to shower, and after his bladder is empty, he realizes how hungry he is and wants to eat, but there will be time for that after.

Tifa will bathe him, and feed him. His hair is a mess, but she won’t mind. Not for the first time, he considers cutting it all off, for the ease of maintenance, but he can’t stand the thought the more he dwells on it.

If he loses his hair, he loses his beauty, one of the only things that he has left. That, and his sword. He shudders to think of...what _ they _ would think of him, if he weren’t pretty anymore, and he feels like throwing up. Best to get to Tifa’s room now, before he starts to really spiral.

“Hey,” he says softly when he gets inside, shutting the door quickly. Tifa is standing beside the bed, in nothing but a sports bra and lounge shorts and a robe now, and she looks comfortable and calm with her hair down and face free of makeup.

He feels disgusting next to her. He needs her to show him what he’s good for. He needs this so badly.

“You alright, Cloud?” she asks, settling a hand on his waist when he steps closer. He nods. “Okay. Take off your clothes.”

He does, glad to be rid of the sweaty shirt and boxers, letting himself sink into his headspace as he goes.

“Okay,” she says, calm, grounding. “On your hands and knees, in front of the chair.”

Her voice is soothing, light and smooth, and he lets it pull him further and further down as she continues to speak. He sinks, and he sinks into the floor, carpet soft and plush underneath his hands and knees.

That had been something they’d had to add, when they’d first started this, and Cloud had gotten one too many splinters in his knees, the hardwood old and sunbleached.

Tifa settles into the chair in front of him, and Cloud straightens his back, ignoring the way the muscles protest after days of laying in bed. He bends his elbows slightly as Tifa bends over to tie the blindfold around his head, and his world goes dark.

He can no longer see, so instead he concentrates on the sensations, the best and most relaxing part of this thing that they did.

First, he feels her feet settle onto his back, sock footed and warm, one ankle crossed over the other.

Then, he hears her pick up a book and a glass of water off of the side table. The pages turn in a way that’s rhythmic, steady like someone’s breath when they drift off to sleep. Cloud starts to count them, but his brain begins to go fuzzy the longer he does.

The carpet beneath him has faded from a distinct feeling to one of numbness, and he only distantly registers the feeling of something cold and glass, filled with liquid settling onto his back, while Tifa’s footsteps disappear into another room.

It registers with him dully when she’s back, the glass of water picked up and her feet appearing again.

He’s useful. He’s hers.

He falls into nothingness, and doesn’t even register the _ drip, drip _ of his tears onto the carpet below.

\--

“Cloud?” Tifa’s voice comes sometime later; he’s not sure how much time has passed. He never seems to when they do this.

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t think he can, but he feels her strong hand on his back, pressing him down till he’s in a comfortable kneeling position, and she can mirror him.

His blindfold is pulled off slowly, the pads of her fingers rough and calloused the way a bartender’s should be.

She pulls him into her lap, and holds him, and thumbs away at his tears while he shakes.

Later, he will join her for the night shift, and crack a small smile. Tomorrow, he will join her and the children for breakfast. In three days from now, he will go on a delivery run.

Two months from now, he will be naked and kneeling in front of Tifa. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.


End file.
